


Rudyard ruins his own birthday

by Melanie_D_Peony



Series: Rudyard Ruins EVERYTHING [1]
Category: Wooden Overcoats (Podcast)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Between Seasons/Series, Birthday Presents, But don't be mistaken I am writing a regency romance here, Can be interpreted as platonic friendship, Fluff and Humor, Heads up for SPOILERS and reapproprating canon text for my selfish purposes, I just need it to feel earned, Implied Chapyard, Light Angst, M/M, Mention of death and funerals, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Sir this is MY emotional support project so I get to make the rules, Stand Alone, Think speed of continents peeps, Warning for super SLOWburn, no beta we die like man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27223222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_D_Peony/pseuds/Melanie_D_Peony
Summary: Rudyard Funn runs a funeral home in the village of Piffling Vale. It used to be the only one. It isn't any more. Rudyard has never been a happy man, has always been prone to fits of despair and bouts of misery and the funeral industry gave him little excuse to be merry. But he understands that birthdays are happy things and even he considers his very own an occasion of joy and festive cheer.After all, even Rudyard Funn couldn't ruin his birthday.Surely.
Relationships: Eric Chapman/Rudyard Funn
Series: Rudyard Ruins EVERYTHING [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003398
Comments: 17
Kudos: 48





	Rudyard ruins his own birthday

**Author's Note:**

> In which the other shoe drops

_We began today just outside Chapman's where Rudyard is hiding in the flora. Yes, allow me to paint you this unusual scene. Imagine Rudyard Funn, widely unpopular funeral director, actual village pariah and, incidentally, my fairly agreeable landlord, crouching in a large bush. And now imagine the shrubbery. One is looking small, mean, dense and rather prickly._

_And the bush is pretty awful too, I suppose._

_Currently, Rudyard is so busy surveying the movements at the home of his funerial foe that he is caught quite off guard by the sudden appearance of a certain, unobtrusive presence..._

*

' _AQUEEEEH!'_ Antigone's eyes narrowed in an unusually triumphant scowl as she parted the leaves, only to discover her startled twin brother in the dripping shelter of the rather nasty bramble _._

'Good lord.' Heaved Rudyard, clutching his racing heart, snapping angrily. 'Antigone Funn, the face of doom. I told you a million times not to lurk!'

'Rudyard, there you are.' Antigone's expression softened somewhat as she joined his brother in his hiding spot casually. This was an understandable gesture as talking sense into Rudyard usually proved almost impossible and the best one could do was helping him along.

'I haven't been anywhere.' Rudyard grumbled, shifting on his knees to make space for her despite the hostile cadence of his voice. 'Apart from this bush.' 

'And I've been phoning up all sorts of places to find you.' Antigone confined him, causing Rudyard to flash smug eyes at her.

'Were you worried?' 

'No, just annoyed.' 

'Well, could you keep it down? Can't you see I am in incognito?' Rudyard's attention was quick to return to the front door of Chapman's as it became evident that he can't get the better of his sister in their verbal tussle. He had the family relic of a periscope lying beside him but was monitoring the opposing funeral home with naked eyes at the moment.

'No, Rudyard, you are in a bush.' Antigone sighed with preemptive exasperation but Rudyard simply waved her off, distracted.

'I am aware of that, thank you very much.'

'Have you spent the whole, entire morning creeping around in Chapman's front garden while I walked off my feet trying to find you?' 

'That about sums it up, yes.'

'Aren't you at least going to ask me what I want?' 

'No.'

'Why not?' 

'Because then you'd tell me.' 

'Have you completely forgotten what day it is today?!' Antigone demanded and there was a lull in the siblings' bickering as Rudyard considered his answer. The only sound was the drumming of the persistent rain on the leaves of the bush. 

'Thursday, but I don't see why that is relevant.' Rudyard shrugged finally, dislodging a shower of cold, fat drops with the gesture. 'After all, we don't have a funeral booked for today. Or for the next 10 years for that matter.'

'It's your birthday, Rudyard.'

'Ah.'

'And for all this time I was looking for you, trying to give you this.' 

With that Antigone handed over the cardboard box she was clutching protectively and that Rudyard pointedly ignored for the whole time. He was quick to open it now, almost desperate. I tried to get a look of the contents of course, but his frame obscured it from me. However, it was obvious from Rudyard's expression that whatever lay in the box, it was rather underwhelming. 

'What am I looking at?' Demanded the older Funn. 

'It's your carrot cake.' Antigone explained helpfully but Rudyard's frown only deepened at that.

'Antigone, this is a mouldy carrot with a single candle in it.' 

'I am not exactly made of money, am I?!' Squalled the agitated mortician and her truism eased Rudyard's grimace somewhat.

'Well, nevertheless, it's the thought that counts…' He admitted sheepishly, but the offended Atigone snatched the box back and held its decaying contents to her chest like it was a sizable, wilted infant. 

'No, you can't have it now. You don't deserve it.' 

'Am I right in guessing that I shouldn't have my hopes up in the gift department either?' Rudyard wagered as he had the vexing tendency to double down when already in the wrong, causing Antigone to all but growl at him.

'You should consider every day when I don't strangle you with my bare hands a gift.' 

'But that's what you've got me last year!' Cried Rudyard, forgetting how subtlety was imperative to his mission, losing himself entirely to their rather amusing row. 

'Besides, you are wrong because this time Georgie and I have actually gotten you a present!' His sister announced, taking evident pleasure in one-upping him.

'Really? Antigone you shouldn't have!' 

'Damn right I shouldn't. But that's just the kind of person I am.' Sniffed Antigone.

'May I have my present please?' The pleasantries rolled off of Rudyard's tongue easily now that he had an incentive and he pulled his best impression of a Dickensian orphan, just short of actually turning, cap in hand, to his sister. But Antigone had over 35 years to get used to the act and wasn't affected by it any longer. 

'Georgie just went to pick it up.' 

'I see.' Rudyard nodded, his voice regaining some of its coldness and a degree of dignity. 'In that case, mind if I return to my former objective?' 

The question reminded Antigone that despite being both adults, just this side of 40, they were crouching in a shrub on a Thursday morning, spying on the business of Eric Chapman. A thought that troubled her intensely - though less on the account of her former conflicted crush on the man in question and more because this setup tended to result in chains of events more destructive than the splitting of a uranium atom. 

'Rudyard. What exactly are you doing over here?' She hissed, suddenly hyper-aware that people might be able to discover them there and knowing the value of plausible deniability. 

'I was doing a bang-up job surveilling Chapman until you turned up!' Rudyard's anger was practically dripping with defensiveness. A worrying sign as Rudyard's more lunatic, delusional, half-baked plots were hardly the results of a lack of a sharp organising mind behind them. They were simply a mixture of a lashing of a cornered animal and the beautiful but entirely misplaced hope that Fortuna will favour him for once - an occurrence that should have happened, statistically, at some point but curiously failed to transpire so far. So Rudyard tended to have a pretty good inkling of his schemes ending in tears and healthy bouts of doubt and guilt before he'd succumb to them anyway. 

'Can't you do that from across the square, like always?' Antigone pleaded, satisfied with the only mildly concerning confession for now, as she was more preoccupied with the worrying itch of her skin. 'This bush is giving me a rash despite already taking a _lot_ of antihistamines.'

'Well, you are always welcome to go back to Funn Funerals and find a spare body to fiddle with.'

'Not until I've found out what has your persecution complex got you doing today!' 

'Antigone, we both know that it's only a complex if you are not actually being persecuted!' 

But the way Rudyard was dodging answers was only making Antigone more stubborn in her interrogation. 

'Rudyard, what kind of crazy scheme are you involved in this time? Better not have anything to do with cherry bombs!' 

'I am merely trying to keep Chapman under surveillance.'

'But why?!' Antigone wailed, throwing her hands in the air. They were doused in water droplets again as instantaneous retribution of such dramatic acts. 'Usually, you couldn't be happier if you have an excuse to avoid him all day!' 

'Well, as I always say, you should keep your friends close and the Chapman under your nose where you can see his every move.' Bloodlust predictably entered Rudyard's voice as he began talking about his nemesis.

'No, it's "your enemies closer".' Antigone corrected him reflexively. 

'What?' 

'The quote? Sun Tzu?' 

'No thank you, I'll just have the carrot, please.' 

'Argh, listen you complete, blighting imbecile!' Grumbled Antigone who always had a low tolerance to ignorance. 'Stop stalling and tell me what is going on!' 

'I don't want to.' Rudyard quipped in a small voice, sounding indignant and a bit frightened. Whether he was scared of the future consequences of his actions or the immediate anger of his sister, was unclear. 'You'll think I am mad.'

'Rudyard. Brother o' mine.' Antigone was suddenly placating, her tone forgiving, her gaze soft. She placed an amicable hand on her brother's bony shoulder. 'I already do and nothing you can say will ever change that.' 

Rudyard, who failed to take offence or notice or both, simply sighed as he finally admitted.

'I think he's throwing me a surprise party.'

'Chapman?' 

'Yes.'

'You are barking mad!' It was Antigone's turn to lash out. She was gesticulating wildly but it no longer mattered as they were both completely soaked. 'You think the man is planning to celebrate you after you've tried everything in your power to ruin him?' 

'This is blatantly untrue and we both know it. I could have tried a hell of a lot more.' Rudyard mused with a dreamily sadistic expression on his face. 'Besides, this is precisely the kind of stunt Chapman would pull to flash his cash and his generous nature and try to make me feel like a terrible person.' 

'Jesus wept!' Antigone clawed at her face. 'What empirical evidence do you have to prove that he is planning a party?' 

'People had been going in and out of Chapman's all morning.' Rudyard presented his winning argument with a smile that wouldn't even get a participation trophy. His answer, however, had Antigone quite wild.

'That's what a successful business looks like!! Which you'd know if you'd had one!!!' She shouted and she was so close to a nervous breakdown that it took her a beat to process just how hurtful she sounded, her eyes widening in horror as she realised her mistake. 'Rudyard, I am so sorry…'

'That was very unkind.' Rudyard sniffed and he looked genuinely shaken by the mighty tremors of Antigone's anger for a brief moment; though less by her words. 

'I didn't mean…' She tried to amend, but Rudyard was quick to recover and take advantage of her lapse of composure.

'And an exceptionally low blow. Even for you.'

'I know.'

'And on my birthday off all days! The only day of my year you are supposed to be nice to me.'

'Well, I am sorry!!!' Antigone snapped again, growing irritated once more, causing Rudyard to turn his nose up like he was rejecting a genuine apology.

'No, too late, the damage is done.' He paused for emphasis, then announced. 'I think I'd like to be alone for a little while.'

It was obvious that he was play-acting; crashing blows to Rudyard's self - esteem and dignity didn't seem to stick as those were luxuries he could no longer afford. But Antigone was a fundamentally sensitive soul and felt bad for her regretful choice of words. 

'Fine.' She sighed, resigning herself with typical Funn apathy to abandoning all hope. Except suddenly something seemed to have occurred to her. 'But this is not an excuse for you not to throw me a party on _my_ birthday - which is exactly a week from now!' 

'As if you'd ever let me forget.' Rudyard muttered under his breath. 

'And I want proper festivities this time!'

'But I thought you didn't like singing, eating and all the silly expressions of public joy.' 

'I'll learn.' She threatened.

'What was the matter with last year's party anyway?' Wailed Rudyard, appearing genuinely baffled. 

'You scheduled only fifteen minutes of celebration before you were off to bury Mr Lawrence!' 

'Ah, yes and what a funeral that was.' A soft expression of happy reminiscence suffused Rudyard's voice. He even flashed something you could call a warm smile if you were being really, really, extremely generous. 

'Firstly, as I recall, it didn't end well at all and all the children left crying!' Antigone, less affected by nostalgia, recounted. 

'And in that respect, it was exactly like a toddler's birthday party.'

'But we are hardly toddlers anymore. And secondly, I wasn't even there, remember? I was in the mortuary, slaving away embalming one body after the other.' 

While that was obviously a complaint Rudyard remained stubbornly enamoured with their past glory days and gazed in the middle distance with evident satisfaction as he relieved the gruesome joy of being knee-deep in bodies. 

'Ah yes.' We whispered to himself while Antigone continued on her diametrically opposing tangent. 

'Just like the year before that and every other year for the past seventeen years.'

'The good old days.'

'Were they?' Antigone asked with a sense of lingering defeat to her voice. 'Watching your life go by, nothing ever changing, each year bringing you closer to your inevitable death before you even had the slightest sliver of a chance to live?' 

'Now look here,' Rudyard announced, clearly unswayed 'life may not have been great before, but it wasn't as bad as it is now – and in my book, that’s a win.' 

'Think what you like, but I want something sophisticated this year, something elaborate, something…'

'French? "

'Yes, that's right, shut up. What of it? We are closer to France anyway.'

'Need I remind you that it is still _my_ birthday for another sixteen hours?' Rudyard intercepted despite knowing that he did not have the most receptive audience.

'That may be, but when mine rolls around, I don't want to feel ignored and forgotten like I am dead already. I want to have a life!'

'You never wanted a life before.' 

'I want one now!' Antigone demanded with almost childish spite. 'I want to really put myself out there and be bold, be brave and open. I want to… dine in the Piffling Yacht Club!'

'You can't.' Rudyard refused flatly.

'Why, you outrageous…?'

'We've been banned, remember?'

'Then I want the most lavish cake money can buy.'

'We lost our baker to a mine disaster!' 

'Fine, I'll settle for a hot air balloon ride.'

'Not on our current budget, you won't.'

'What _can_ I have then?!' 

'The day off and some pastries from Chapman's and you should consider yourself lucky!' Rudyard conceded in some semblance of an armistice, only barely resisting rubbing his face down tiredly. He refused and refused to be embarrassed by the dire financial trouble their business was in, stubbornly called it a fallow period though "just about avoiding bankruptcy" had become their modus operandi these days and remained upbeat to the point of being delusional. But his fiscal decisions, the panicked way he latched on to "quick fixes" that were supposed to prop up their crumbling capital and the fact that he'd been sitting in a wet shrub since daybreak, accomplishing nothing apart from pneumonia, was telling a different story altogether.

'Thank you, Rudyard.' Antigone said with feeling, as she knew quite well what a gift she was given and knew not to squander it.

'Yes, alright.' Rudyard waved her affection off with discomfiture. 'And now you can slink off to your lair to develop embalming fluids or read some of your trash or whatever is that you do.' 

'I suppose it's not too late to catch a matinée.' Antigone pondered, tempted. 'Herbert promised to put on something willfully inaccessible and dangerously depressing. But are you sure you want to be in a bush all day, entirely alone, with no one to talk to?' 

'I thought you'd appreciate the idea.' Hummed Rudyard offhandedly.

'I do.' Antigone admitted. 'But Rudyard, you need to get out more.'

'I need a lot of things, now be quiet.'

'And you should probably spend your birthday with the ones who matter the most.' 

'Should is a strong word.' Rudyard muttered, not tearing his eyes away from the cheery facade of Chapman's. He sounded his most solemn and most sincere as he whispered at his sister. 'Now look here, Antigone. I just have to do this. Alone. Please.' 

A rare moment of understanding and camaraderie passed between the twins as Antigone slowly disengaged the cake box from her iron grip.

'Don't you want to blow the candle at least?' She asked gently and Rudyard inhaled with considerably less annoyance than expected, his irritated huff sounding almost fond. 

'Fine. Hand me the matches.'

'Here.' Antigone offered as they shuffled around so they could both bend over the cake.

'One match?' Rudyard asked, peering into the matchbox.

'It's all we've got.'

'Naturally.' 

'Wait.' Antigone placed her calloused mortician's hand gently on her brother's forearm. 'Don't forget to make a wish.'

Rudyard nodded, lit the match and lifted it to the candle. The siblings watched almost reverently whether the wick would catch; it felt like a moment of divination, like the motif of carrying that little flame grew beyond itself. When the thin wax cylinder was finally aflame they looked at each other with twin expressions of awe.

'Reminds me of when we were children.' Rudyard admitted in a soft voice and Antigone nodded in agreement, wet strands of her lank hair falling across her face.

'Can you remember the time father forgot about my birthday and you made me a cake from wheat bisks and some spare candles? Can you remember what you said to me?'

'I said "We can't eat it now. It's covered in wax".' Rudyard patted his arms as if he was cold but maybe it was the memory that sent shivers down his spine; a bright spot in an otherwise perfectly desolate and morbid childhood. Made considerably brighter by the power of nostalgia, but valid nonetheless. 'Sound advice.'

'It was the most thoughtful thing you've done for me.' Antigone confessed and her words had no scratching undertones this time. She was being sincere as she spoke with her eyes trained on the candle, mesmerised. The lightest touch of blush was tainting her usually deathly pale countenance as if this celebration of life was drawing her out from the realm of the deceased. 

'Thank you, Antigone.' Rudyard whispered back. 

'Happy birthday, Rudyard.'

And for a moment, they sat in silence, throwing the most Funn birthday possible; a small, meagre, despondent event, frustrating for all involved, held in the shadow of impending doom. And yet, despite it all and against all odds, it was an occasion of joy and festive cheer.

And they seemed, for once, actually happy. 

'Blow out your candle.' Antigone urged and Rudyard inhaled in haste.

Only for a stray drop of water to put the flame out before he got a chance himself, bringing an abrupt and unceremonious end to the party.

'I don't know why I even bother.' He sighed, shutting the lid on what was essentially a root vegetable in a state of advanced decomposition.

'Chin up, Rudyard.' Antigone boxed his shoulder in an awkward display of friendliness before turning to claw her way out of the shrub. 'I'll see you later.' 

Rudyard stared after her with what I initially believed to be a precious bout of introspection. But, as it turned out, he was just making sure that she was out of earshot before spinning on his heels and turning to survey Chapman's. 

'Finally, Madeleine.' He growled at me. 'Let's see what Satan is up to.' 

Now, I tend not to give Rudyard advice - it would deprive me of some serious content. But being a neutral observer is hard at times and even I was so moved by the pathos of the previous minutes that I was just about to have a little talk with Rudyard about the merits of ending his obsession with Eric Chapman. But my plans were foiled by the man himself, his presence announced by the weather well before he actually appeared. The sun couldn't have been in more haste to come out and meet him. The birds began to sing like they were generously paid extras on the set of a BBC period drama, taking place on the Channel Islands.

Eric Chapman had entered the scene. 

Almost instantaneously he was greeted by Miss Scruple, our local spinster, sure possessor of a sharp, lashing tongue and various humours, none of which were fine. In all fairness to her, "Dotty" Scruple was an amusing presence - up to her 75th birthday when she decided that filtering herself was outmoded and the point of every conversation was to unleash her rough-hewn opinion on any unsuspecting victim she could find. Today that person was going to be Eric Chapman; a rare occurrence that wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for the fact that Miss Scruple had to pause for a minute to berate Antigone for looking like the hedge she emerged from.

But it seemed that even the universe was trying to give Rudyard a break on account of his special day. 

Eric, however, suspected none of this and welcomed Miss Scruple with naive enthusiasm that was both a joy to behold and entirely misplaced.

'Why hullo there, Mr Chapman! ' The old lady waved with cheer.

'Afternoon, Miss Scruple! Enjoying ourselves?' 

'You could say so.' Miss Scruple's face crumpled into an expression she thought was mournful, but it was plainly screaming distaste. 'I'm off to visit my late Richard's grave.'

'My condolences and may your dear departed...' Chapman began earnestly when Miss Scruple interrupted.

'Bastard.'

'...dear, departed, bastard brother rest in peace.' Eric's smile became a bit less natural, a bit more strained as it always did when people decided to desert the well-dug trenches of polite small talk.

'Thank you, Mr Chapman. And yourself? Locking up already, are we?' Miss Scruple squinted curiously. It was obvious what was happening. She was honing in on Chapman like a heat-seeking missile with only one intent: searching to destroy. 

'Why yes, Miss Scruple.'

'I see. A fallow period, is it? People are too darn healthy these days, no?' She clicked her tongue empathically, causing Chapman to laugh.

'Oh, no. Quite the opposite. I just thought I'll spend the day out and about Piffling, that's all.' 

'Oh, is it that time of the year already?' Miss Scruple furrowed her brows. 'I would've sworn that we just had an election - I remember doing my bid for democracy." 

By her "bid for democracy" she'd meant the time when she chased both Mayoral candidates away and then failed to show up at the polls altogether, of course.

'I can assure you, I am not doing any canvassing this time.' 

'But you'd only ever closed up for polling day.' 

'Excluding bank holidays, yes. But while death might not take the day off,' Eric assured her cheerily. 'even funeral directors have to take a rest some time.'

'So if it's not for the election, then what's the occasion?' Miss Scruple doggedly asked.

'I simply thought I'd see a little bit more of our lovely village.'

'And what a little is there to see.' The old lady snorted then stirred the conversation back to her favourite topic; other people's misery. 'But are you sure that nothing's the matter, Mr Chapman? It's so unlike you to take the day off.' 

'I suppose I was just getting a bit bored, over here at Chapman's. Alone. With my light ale.' 

'Oooh, so it's because you are going out with someone, Mr Chapman, is it? Are you seeing someone at the moment? Are you? Are you going with someone? Are you? Are you Mr Chapman? Going out? Are you?' 

And I watched Eric throw a surreptitious glance about himself as Miss Scruple kept rephrasing her question. Only to proceed to project his answer in his loud, theatrical, "am-dram" voice. 

'It's going to be only me today, I'm afraid.' He said and he winked at Miss Scruple. I glanced at Rudyard to see if he'd noticed the subtext of the exchange, but the proprietor of my mousehole seemed unaware of all the pantomime taking place between the subjects of our scrutiny. 

'Gotcha', Mr Chapman.' Miss Scruple stage-whispered back at Eric in her subtle voice that was only slightly louder than Rudyard's "Vote Chapman" airhorns. 'How nice for you dear. You know, I often thought to myself that you work too hard.' 

'Sorry?' Chapman blinked owlishly at her. Pity was not a reaction he'd normally elicit in others and he didn't know what to do with it now. 

'It's just that I'll often stop for a second while I'm tidying my linen cupboard or having a bath and I'll think-'

'Please don't think about me in the bath.' Eric intercepted primly.

'And I'll think "Oooh, Dottie, I wonder what Mr Chapman's up to" and I'll often think "He sure seems to tell himself he can't be lonely if he's never on his own.' 

'I mean - you do know that I am seeing Lady Templar?' Chapman stared at Miss Scruple, sounding the teeniest bit defensive.

'Of course you do, dear. And how's that workin' out for ya?' Miss Scruple chuckled with cantankerous mirth. 

'I'm happy to say that we are doing great.' Eric's voice carried a great deal more cheer than his face as he blanched ever so slightly. His smile was becoming very visibly stiff and insincere, growing even more fake as Miss Scruple continued her onslaught.

'Heh, right.' She rolled her eyes cynically. 'So I am sure that you never find yourself alone by the time morning rolls around, do you, Mr Chapman? Doing the crossword by yourself, watching the sun rise, every day the same, nothing ever really changing. Is that the sort of thing that ever happens to you, Mr Chapman?' 

'Well, to be perfectly honest…' Judging by the way Eric stared into thin air he was having flashbacks of some very unpleasant mornings. I almost began to feel sorry for the man. Though, I was alone with my misgivings.

'I am so glad that this is happening!' Rudyard sniggered beside me, pushing his face further in between the branches to get a better view of the verbal flaying of Eric Chapman.

'Because that would be a real shame, you know.' Miss Scruple continued her musing, almost as if she was talking exclusively to herself now. 'And you are such a good looking young man to boot, you really shouldn't spend your whole life cooped up in that sprawling mansion of yours, slaving away, trying to make sure that everyone is well taken care of with no one to take care of you, no one to show you any affection. Does that ever cross your mind, Mr Chapman? Does it?' 

'Not quite this way, no Miss Scruple.' Eric was tugging at his tie as if it was a noose tightening around him mercilessly. His gaze fluttered left and right, in a desperate bid for an escape route. 

'Especially since there are plenty of nice single women on Piffling.'

'Tremendous.' Chapman hurriedly agreed. 'Well, as much fun as this has been, I'd really better get…'

'Or single men if that's more up in your alley. A lot of them are quite desperate too.' 

'Fabulous, we'd better not hang around here then.' Chapman clapped his hands, finally sensing an opening. He virtually ran past Miss Scruple, keen to shake his captor, calling back over his shoulder in passing. 'Enjoy yourself.' 

'Ta-ta, Mr Chapman.' Miss Scruple waved him off, tilting her head on one side in contemplation, finally concluding, 'He's a bit of a pushover, that one.'

Meanwhile, we hung about in the bush. Rudyard crouched down a bit more as Chapman had passed his hideout then turned to me when he was out of earshot.

'How's that for empirical evidence, eh Madeleine? Because if Chapman expects me to believe that there are no appointments in his diary or nowhere else for him to be today and he just _so_ happens to take this particular day off by coincidence he's got another thing coming. We'd better follow him.'

*

_And that is exactly what we did. However, if Eric Chapman had any nefarious natal day plans, they were quite obscure. Rather, he seemed to simply wander around various Piffling attractions. Firstly, we tailed him through the Pushkin twins' Petting Zoo and Nature Reserve. Which is just a fancy name to describe what's hardly more than four disturbed penguins and a decaying sloth forgotten in its enclosure, as the rest of Piffling's exotic menagerie is usually touring with the travelling circus this time of the year. But despite the underwhelming displays, Rudyard seemed to enjoy the sight. After all, he used to like the Piffling Aquarium better before Chapman restocked it with actual fish, too. As a matter of fact, he got so caught up in making small talk to a depressed looking vole that he forgot all about Chapman for full fifteen minutes, after which we completely lost sight of his funerary nemesis for a while._

_We only managed to catch up with Eric at the Broken Tooth, just as he was exiting the shop with a rich bounty of Turkish delight, sherbet fountains and a bag of boiled sweets. However, he never got to enjoy his lavish picnic, because Rudyard nicked the whole thing just as Chapman settled on a little bench by the lake bearing his name. It only took a blink - Chapman was momentarily distracted by the presence of Bill and Tanya and by the time he looked back all the treats were gone and rehomed in a certain funeral director's belly._

_But Chapman remained unperturbed and went ahead to board the Piffling Ferris Wheel after that. Determined not to lose him again, Rudyard begrudgingly coughed up another fair and embarked on the attraction himself. But his objective began to slip his mind once more and he grew bolder and happier with every inch of the ascent of his gondola, beginning to point out sights of historical importance around Piffling. His joy was so lovely to behold that I did not have the heart to remind him of his sworn enemy, floating right below him in a different carriage._

_Besides, he remembered that soon enough as we took off the Ferris Wheel. It was getting late and his surprise party still failed to manifest itself - a fact that made Rudyard quiet and contemplative as he took a shortcut back to Funn Funerals._

_Where he was greeted by a familiar figure._

*

'Oi, Sir!' Georgie called out as she spotted her boss trudging across the square. She was leaning against her moped and hugged a small parcel to her hip.

'Hello there, Georgie.' Rudyard waved with delight. Georgina Crusoe was among the few people whose presence would cheer him up. 'Shouldn't you be with the Mayor this afternoon?' 

'Yeah, I just came by to confirm my schedule.' Georgie shrugged then handed over her package, covered in shiny gift wrapping, almost as if she'd just remembered it. 'Oh, happy birthday, by the way.'

'You knew.' Rudyard beamed. Clearly, he had forgotten already what his sister said to him about Georgie helping her purchase a present. Either that or he just didn't listen to her in the first place.

'Yeah. I am great with dates.' 

'Marvellous, my first present of the day.' 

'Why would you assume that you are going to be getting any more?' Georgie stared at her boss in confusion. 

'How kind.' Rudyard drummed his fingers on the box, practically vibrating with eager anticipation.

'Don't mention it.' 

'Ok, I won't.' Rudyard suddenly seemed suspicious. 'Wait, it's not a brush, is it?'

See, they already had an abundance of those at Funn funerals. Two to be precise; which was two more than they actually needed.

'Nah. You gonna love it.' Georgie promised, finally letting her excitement show. It was clear from the way her eyes twinkled merrily that she thought she'd nailed Rudyard's present this time. 'I made a dent in the old helicopter fund and Antigone chipped in too to get it.' 

At the mention of Antigone Rudyard's face fell.

'Oh lord, it's another copy of _So you want to stop people despising you,_ isn't it?'

'Trust me. It's so much better than a book.'

'Oh. I see.' Rudyard's anxiety eased a little bit at that, as he'd had some unpleasant run-ins with the self-help genre.'Thank you, Georgie.' 

'What can I say, I'm great at presents. Anyway, how's your birthday been so far?'

'I don't think it could have gone any worse.' Rudyard complained heartily. I thought otherwise but it wasn't like Rudyard to admit to, God forbid, _enjoying himself._

'Sounds like business as usual, then.' Georgie rolled her eyes, familiar with her employer's antics.

'See, I had to spend the whole day trailing after Chapman.'

'Why, what was he doing?'

'I thought he was going to throw me a surprise party in a desperate bid to one-up me and humiliate me in public.' 

'That is completely bloody typical.' Georgie sneered, punching her palm with pleasure, probably imagining that she had someone tall, blond and handsome between her hands. 'He'd must have done it knowing that you'll end up being chased by an angry mob.'

'I'm glad that you are not underestimating his capacity for evil.' Rudyard nodded. 

'I mean you’ve been chased by a lynching crowd more times than I care to remember, and it’s beginning to make you look bad.'

'I bet he planned that all along!' Rudyard said between his gritted teeth, really warming up to berating Chapman.

'Yeah.' Georgie agreed firmly. 'Trust Eric Chapman to bank on you being enough of a prat to turn a gathering of any size into a bloodthirsty, rabid mass.'

'I'm glad that someone is catching on!' Rudyard declared happily before the meaning of Georgie's words began to sink in. 'Wait, what?'

'It's the way you carry yourself that does it.' Georgie concluded, nodding to herself.

'Thank you, Georgie.' Rudyard tried to hush her, looking a bit offended.

'And the things you say.'

 _'Thank you_ , Georgie.'

'And the stuff you do.'

'I SAID THANK YOU, GEORGIE.' The funeral director finally snapped, his shouting causing Georgie to flinch a bit. 

'Jeez, okay.' She held her hands up placatingly. Then her face lit up with sudden recognition. 'And, did you?'

'Now look here…' Rudyard began, his chest still heaving with agitation, only to trail off looking confused. 'What?' 

'Get chased by an angry mob?'

'No.'

'How come?'

'Well, it must be because Chapman didn't throw me a party in the end.' Rudyard admitted sheepishly.

'So, basically, you wasted your whole birthday spying on Eric Chapman for no reason at all? You must be very disappointed.' Georgie shook her head resolutely.

'Don't be ridiculous. I couldn't be more relieved.' Rudyard insisted. 'I can't think of a scenario where I'd want to spend my birthday with the people of Piffling rather than ignoring the bloody lot of them and keep myself to myself.' 

'Still, it would seriously tick _me_ off if I had to watch Chapman manning the front desk of his funeral home all day. Guess you have only yourself to blame, though.' Georgie shrugged, making Rudyard glare at her angrily.

'I disagree strongly. I mean, taking this situation empirically – looking at it by and large – I’d say that the person responsible for all this is Eric Chapman.' 

'Well, at least you did a fair whack of industrial espionage.' Georgie, ever the optimist, added. 'Did you pinch some hot leads, sir?' 

'Well, you are never going to guess this…' Rudyard lowered his voice conspiratorially and leaned in towards his assistant. But Georgie was tough to impress. 

'I know. So why don't you just tell me?'

'But Chapman wasn't manning his desk. Or working at all. Instead, he was doing some kind of round tour of Piffling.' Rudyard outright shuddered with disgust at the idea of someone daring to spend the day appreciating what Piffling had to offer, generously overlooking the fact that he'd been doing just the same. 'Nipping in and out of attractions, that sort of thing.'

'Right.' Drawled Georgie who was much quicker to catch on and as Rudyard recounted the tale of his spoiled birthday I could tell that she was considering the same thing that I did. Namely, the fact that everything Chapman had done that day seemed to have been selected to create a unique and memorable experience for a certain funerial rival of his. 

'Visiting sights, eating treats. It's a mystery how the man gets any business done with such lax work ethics.' Rudyard summarized it to his dumbstruck assistant and finally, she couldn't take it any longer.

'And are you _sure_ he didn't know you were following him?' She asked tentatively. Her solemn boss nodded with grave conviction.

'I'm positive. Madeleine and I were stealthy as a snake and quiet as a…'

I had to stop Rudyard there before he'd said something he'd regret and he had the good grace to look a bit chastised.

'You are right, Madeleine, that would have been offensive.' 

'It just sounds almost as if he was trying to do something nice for you.' Georgie pushed, prompting Rudyard to whip his head around and scowl at her.

'Of course he didn't. That's obscene.'

His flat refusal of the mere possibility annoyed Georgie immensely.

'Come off it, Rudyard.' She argued back a bit. 'Has no one ever tried to take you out on your birthday?'

'You mean like an assassin?' Rudyard wondered with utter sincerity.

'No, I mean for a dinner or a party. Or on a date.' Georgie explained slowly like she was educating a small child.

'Father gave me an extra sprout when I turned seven if that sort of thing counts.' Rudyard furrowed his brows, trying to remember.

But of course, a lot of his birthdays had transpired since and Georgie was awaiting titillating tales of what Rudyard Funn used to like to do for his special day as a young adult, a newly minted master of his own destiny.

Except no tales were coming forth. 

'I just thought that you'd be more into birthdays, sir.' The fresh-faced dogsbody of Funn Funerals shrugged despondently, prompting more pearl-clutching outrage from Rudyard.

'I don't see why when they are all just days full of gimmicks.'

'Come on, there must be something you can get out of these festivities! What about all the rigid adherence to tradition?' Georgie tried to lighten the mood, fishing for some little ray of sunshine tucked away in the dust mottled corners of Rudyard's long memory.

'What about it?' Rudyard simply blinked in confusion.

'Or about the perpetual scheduled activities?' Georgie offered further conversational crutches, hoping against all hope to discover at least one measly piñata in the Funn twins' past. 'Decorating cakes, creating seating plans, watching your favourite movie, playing pin the tail on the donkey or gift treasure hunt?' 

'Gimmicks, all gimmicks.' Rudyard complained causing Georgie to pinch the bridge of her nose, looking degrees more exhausted than before their conversation began.

'I know.' She said evenly as if talking to a skittish horse. 'Why don't you tell me how would _you_ have preferred to spend your birthday and I'll make it happen? And don't worry, I am great at organising parties at incredibly short notice.'

'Sorry?' Rudyard was not comprehending this unexpected turn of events.

'Like, give me a frame of reference.' Georgie made a gesture with her hand, implying that she was trying to get the ball rolling at this improvised brainstorming session. 'What did you do for your birthday last year?'

'Easy.' Rudyard shot back, off the cuff. 'We had the Perez funeral. Still have Mrs Perez's restraining order as a keepsake. I am not allowed within 1 mile of her - it's a new personal record.' 

'Ok, bad example. How about the year before?'

'We held a wonderful memorial service for Mrs Brighton. Then duly refunded the family.'

'And before that?'

'That was the year we cremated Mr Thistle. You wouldn't believe it but the woods have already almost completely recovered from the aftermath!'

'So have all your birthdays been full of social upheaval or nervous breakdowns?' Georgie stared at the heavens above, probably praying for a promising answer for such a hopeless question.

'I am proud to say that they used to have both.' 

'Ok, that's it, sir.' Unable to stand the lack of cheer any longer, Georgina clapped her hand decisively. 'We'll have a little outing, make an evening of it. Make sure you had some fun for once.' 

'Don't be absurd, Georgie. When was the last time I had fun doing anything?' Rudyard protested.

'You'll learn.' Georgie threatened, glancing at her watch. 'Now, I can't stick around, but I'm gonna book ourselves a table for 6 o'clock; it's Italian tonight. And don't be late.'

'How dare you!' Rudyard gasped and I half expected him to nip his assistant's attempt at being considerate in the bud. But he continued with a self-deprecating, grateful little smile instead. 'If there's one thing I am good at it's getting the me in the restaurant in the evening on time.'

'Cool.' Georgie beamed at him, clapping him on the shoulder, causing him to lose his balance. Then she donned her sky blue helmet and kicked her moped into gear. 'Bye now, see you later!'

And she called after Rudyard, above the din of her bike as she turned about the square.

'Don't forget to open your present.'

'Bye Georgie!' Rudyard waved from beyond a cloud of the moped's exhaust. And promptly proceeded to decimate the gift wrapping, letting the miles of sellotape and patterned cellophane gather at his feet as he peered into his gift box. 

'Oh my! Madeleine.' He smiled reverently, the sight of his gift very nearly bringing tears to his eyes. 'They got me the other shoe!'

He held up the single black Oxford, shiny like the shell of a scarab beetle like it was something sacred.

Up until a noise behind him frightened him into dropping it. 

'Evening, Rudyard.' Eric Chapman, who'd snuck upon us as we admired the new acquisition, had greeted the rival funeral director merrily.

'CHAPMAN!' Wailed Rudyard, staring at his new shoe with grief as it lay by his feet in the dust.

'Oh, whoops, you've dropped this.' Eric already bent to retrieve it and gathered Rudyard's litter in the process too. He handed back the shoe with a flourish but held onto the cellophane. He was probably planning to sneakily recycle it once he got a chance. For now, he narrowed his eyes at their cheery pattern with a half-smile. 'And would you look at all that gift wrapping? Rudyard. It isn't your birthday by any chance, is it?' 

Once again, he said that with the booming gravitas of his stage voice, the one we were all intimately familiar with from the time he'd got the leading role in Isabella McGoohan's last ever play. Rudyard, however, failed to pick up on the fact that he'd be feigning his ignorance and responded with the utmost sincerity. 

'Now look here, Chapman, it's not that it's any of your business but it just so happens that it is, actually, in point of fact, my birthday today, yes.'

'Why I had no idea.' Eric Clapped his hands, his exaggerated shock as unconvincing as Rudyard was oblivious. But he ceased to put up a show when he continued. In fact, his voice became lower, gentler as he said. 'Many happy returns, Rudyard. I trust you had a good day today?' 

'Well, if you could call a day of inane strolling around town and the idle visits to various Piffling sites a good day....'

'I would, yes.' Eric helpfully supplied.

'Then I suppose I did, thank you very much!' 

'Don't mention it.' Eric beamed proudly, clearly confusing his rival. Then, abruptly, he seemed to have lost all his bravado and he spoke his next words with the air of someone who was bracing to throw himself in the icy waves. 'Listen, Rudyard. I was wondering if, er, you were free, we could, er-'

Even Rudyard was able to pick up on the nervousness that seeped into Chapman's voice. Or on the fact that suddenly there was a pink tinge highlighting Eric's cheeks. 

'Are you alright, Chapman?' He contemplated his nemesis curiously.

'Super, couldn't be happier, super.' Stammered Eric with a strained little laugh. 'Do you- do you- do you want to grab dinner with me tonight?' 

The silence descending the pair was thicker than a pea-souper. Rudyard blinked once, twice and a few more times in a row, as if that could help with the fact that he was unable to believe his ears. 

'You want to spend an evening in my company? Over dinner? In a public place?' He finally quipped, his voice rough like his words had been dragged through the barbed wire that seemed to be filling up his throat and mouth.

'Just so we can compare notes, swap stories, that sort of thing.' Eric hurried to say, almost apologetically, like he'd suggested something morally dubious. His immediate submission seemed to help Rudyard find his footing again.

'What, so you can sniff out our company secrets?' He rushed to accuse Chapman.

'No! I just thought we should get to know each other a bit better. Away from all the dead bodies and that.' Eric, meanwhile, was still tripping over his tongue in an effort to disperse Rudyard's suspicion.

'You deal with death every day, you shouldn't get into a tizz over a few dead bodies.' Rudyard mused, happily changing the topic, keen as ever to find fault with Chapman's practices. Chapman, on the other hand, wasn't so easy to stir.

'Right. Every day. You can say that again.' He pointed it out gently, almost as a peace offering. 'But even we need a break from all that grief, Rudyard.'

'Need is a very flexible word, Chapman.' Rudyard growled with his characteristic aggression. There was, however, the slightest hint of longing in his voice. And I watched him watch Chapman with intense concentration like he was trying to decide whether he could trust Eric's kindly approach. Even though their rivalry was entirely one-sided, Rudyard had an inherent distrust for Chapman's amicable nature. Years of experience and two failed attempts at making friends taught him not to take any positive attention at face value. If anything, Chapman's flustered attempts at getting into his good graces made less sense to him when Eric was simply trying to instigate a bit of friendly competition. 

'Look. I just wanted you to sit back, enjoy yourself and relax - perhaps with a richly deserved slap-up feed.' Eric seemed even less assured and, frankly, a bit sad as he repeated his invitation. But it was a rare instance of someone not being sad _because_ of Rudyard. Rather Eric seemed melancholy on the elder Funn's behalf. 'What's the harm in that?' 

'But I haven't taken anyone out for dinner in my whole life!' Rudyard admitted, then realising just how vulnerable that came out, proudly added. 'Nor should I start now.' 

'Rudyard…' Chapman took a step towards him, hand outstretched. Looked like he was simply trying to softly hold Rudyard by the elbow, stir him towards Chapman's the way he'd probably chaperone a widow overcome with grief. But Rudyard was quick to jump back and in all fairness, I could hardly remember the last time any villager tried to lay a hand on him with good intentions. They usually had some very valid reasons for pushing, shoving, pinching or gripping Rudyard, mind and he did, in fact, provoke old Mrs Carmichael into trying to punch him that one time, yes. But the sheer, naked panic in Rudyard's eyes was still a bit gut-wrenching, even if it was a becoming look on him. Chapman immediately lay his palm back by his side, while Rudyard tried unsuccessfully to compose himself by smoothing out imaginary creases in his soaked suit. 

'Besides, you'll find that Funn Funerals was more than capable to provide already.' 

'Ah.' Eric sighed, visibly deflating. 'I see. Are you going out with Antigone?'

'And Georgie, yes.' Rudyard rushed to point out. 

'Well, guess I better get my shift on then.' Chapman mustered a smile with some difficulty.

'Oh God, yes, don't let me hold you up.' Rudyard agreed magnanimously. 

'No.' Chapman nodded quietly. He looked at Rudyard like he was desperate to say something else, biting his bottom lip, before he thought the better of it and settled on his familiar greeting. Though it came out more solemnly than ever before. 'Enjoy yourself, won't you?'

'Oh, I will, don't worry.' Meanwhile, Rudyard was speaking again with his usual, exuberant cadence as if the previous conversation had no impact on him. 

'Yes. Well, I'll just be… See you later.' Eric's voice trailed off and he trudged towards Chapman's while whistling "For he's a jolly good fellow" sadly and a little out of tune.

What followed was a moment of stunned silence as the events of the day sank in. That is until I had a few meaningful words with Rudyard. Yes, dear reader, I try not to interfere, as a rule of thumb. Still, I am Rudyard's only real friend in this world. And even bestselling authors can run out of self-restraint on occasions.

'Oh, what's the use, Madeleine?' Rudyard sighed at me as I laid out my opinion. 'I think you'll find that wishing for the impossible never helped anyone.' 

And he threw a glance at his gloomy funeral home over his shoulder. It looked miserable, yes, but its misery was a well - known variable; and no one could have accused Rudyard Funn of settling for something new as he ambled despondently back to Funn Funerals. 

If I had some more unsolicited advice to give to him, it did not come up that day. We were far too busy celebrating. Which, naturally, led to all of us getting a lifetime ban from Mrs Frangipani's Italian bistro; an amusing anecdote, actually, but maybe for another time.

As for Eric Chapman's strange proposal, it seemed to have lost its relevance altogether. That is, until a few months later, when…

Ah, but we should burn that bridge when we come to it.

* * *

_If you enjoyed this extract from the fifth installment of "Memoirs of a Funeral House Mouse - More Mouse, More Funeral" then why not purchase it now for only £5.99 plus shipping when you order directly from us online? Yes, that's right the most amusing, most exciting, most heartbreaking comedy* that has ever been written** that took the literary world by storm and prompted the critiques at Piffling FM to say "That was bloodthirsty stuff!" is only £5.99 plus shipping when you order from our website. Visit www.penguinrandommouse.com/Piffling._

* _about the funerary practice_

_** so far_

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. _*crawls out from under the rock, ending the self-imposed seclusion winking, finger-gunning, waving a fic that's been cobbled together exclusively during commutes and lunch breaks and in a state of moderate to severe sleep deprivation, that started out as a single pun and ballooned to 8k, only to frown in confusion when someone points out that "canon compliance" is not the same as "regurgitating canon text*_ Sup?


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